Warning Notice: The Following Story contains the Abuses of Power, Manipulation, and Violence.
There are clear displays in the loss of autonomy under Physical and Psychological abusive behaviour
Be aware of this while reading the following Story.
The Coming From the Shadows Series
Previous Instalments:
- T.I.C: The Legacy A Lost War – The Rise of the Imperium: A Dark Legacy Unfolds
- T.I C: Jesse – The Imperium Chronicles: A Hunter’s Vengeance
- T.I.C: The Seeds of Servitude – The Seeds of Servitude: A Dark Tale of the Imperium
Connected Content:
- The Halls of Power – Behind the Curtains of Power: The Dark Game of Political Intrigue
- Oppression and Vulnerability – Cathryn’s Struggle: Defiance Against Darkness
- Oppression and Vulnerability II – Cathryn’s Struggle: Defiance Against Darkness II
- The Seeds of Rebellion – The Journey from Timidity to Rebellion: Lydia
- Peace Shattered – A Night of Violence: Shattered Peace
- The Journey’s Beginning – Facing the Imperium: A Mother’s Fight for Her Child
- The Imperium’s Chronicles: A Tale of Resistance
- T.I.C: Struggle between Duty and Fascination – Cult of the Minotaur: Secrets of Betrayal and Rebellion
Coming From the Shadows
The Imperium Chronicles:
The Dying Fire of Resistance
Introduction:
January, 1890 A.D.
The Smythe Estate, Along the River Thames, Southern England
The silence within the Master bedroom was suffocating; an oppressive blanket of despair had settled over Cathryn; barely Eighteen; she simply stared towards her reflection within the ornate mirror, subtle shadows danced in the flickering candlelight.
Cathryn, despite her innocent and slender appearance had once hidden a defiant predator; she had been born in December of 1872 to her parents, Evelyn and Cyril Langdon; born moments before an unfolding carnage; Cathryn’s family, they came from a mysterious group simply known as ‘The Hunters’ – a disorganised group that shared the same goal; Oppose the Imperium.
The Imperium acted as a unifying body of competing Cultist groups; one such group; the Cult of the Minotaur, had been stablished by a man named; Alfred Smythe during the 17th Century – and in 1872; it had grown powerfully influential, the Smythe Families Business Empire enabled it to push beyond its only goals, enabling first Elias, then later his son; George to effectively lead the Imperium without ever being elected as its official representative leader.
Elias Smythe; in 1872 led a purging act, the ‘Hunters’ a group first appearing during the Medieval period had once been a threat, but, lie the once proud ‘Guardians’ before them, the ‘Hunters’ too fell, their safe havens purged, from Britain to France, from Spain to Russia, across Asia in places such as India and China, even towards Indochina – the ‘Hunters’ were near extinction.
In 1887 after being forced to flee Lancashire to Kings Langley, Cyril and Evelyn raised their daughter, forced into isolation they relied on themselves; creating a strong bond of reliance, Cathryn would learn her parents skills ranging from Swords-Fighting, to Firearms and the most iconic of the Hunter’s tools; a Non-Lethal Weapon; a Simple Unassuming Egg Shell, typically they were designed with ornate symbols to represent the heritage of that Hunter’s group; in 1887 though, Cathryn found herself orphaned, trapped where her parents made her hide, she could do nothing be witness the deaths of her parents.
Though she would be rescued by a woman named Anne Smythe; she took her in, essentially became a surrogate mother, and despite now living amongst the Smythe Family, Cathryn would continue what she had been raised to do, her training was further pushed by a mysterious individual simply known as ‘The Monk’ even her host; the George Smythe – he provided a form of training, though, this was only to serve a purpose.
Cathryn, lacking understanding of relationships and manipulation tactics; failed to see the signs; her infatuation with George would be twisted; he ‘allowed’ her to continue her work as a ‘Hunter’ while it suited.
Now, this young woman; despite once being a formidable predator in disguise could only stare at her reflection; she barely recognised what she had succumbed too.
Her Long, Raven-Dark Hair had been tied neatly back, limply hanging down her back, reaching as far down as the base of her spine; her Silvery-Grey eyes, once determined, were far from that now.
Chapter 1:
Descent into Submission
Wearing a wedding dress; Cathryn stared – she had agreed to marriage only weeks ago, it had been on her Eighteenth Birthday, posed as a question by George, but even now, she realised, it was a command, she wasn’t sure how she came to the realisation, but it now sat within her head.
George Smythe was far older than her; a man that radiated an aura of power and danger, it had terrified her before, but not as much as it did now; now, with a chilling self-awareness, she had succumbed to her initial fascination with him, her infatuation, and he had twisted it; took advantage, manipulated her into reliance.
Her heart beat frantically against her ribs like a frantic drum-beat in an oppressive silence.
The door then creaked open; George, entering slowly locked her within his gaze; his blonde hair gleamed within the dancing candlelight, his icy-blue eyes so much like glacial ice were devoid of warmth as he walked with a predatory confidence, his presence simply filled the room, it stole the air from her lungs as she looked towards him “Cathryn” he said, his voice a low silken caress, it sent a shiver down Cathryn’s spine “The final act of our union awaits”
He’d accomplished what he set out to do; he had claimed her under the eyes of their ‘Lord’ now, she had little options, or choice.
Panic clawed at her throat “George…, I…, I’m not ready…” she stammered, her words were barely audible; the fear of her future was sinking in; things were no longer being kept hidden, though, she began wondering just how cruel this man she had once been infatuated, could become – she saw it when his expression hardened in an immediate response to her words
His hands, clasped behind his back; he came to a stop directly in front of her “Not ready?; My dear Cathryn, you are my wife; you belong to me” he told her, a coldness filled his voice “Surely you wish to ensure my happiness, especially considering how often I have maintained both your security and happiness?”
His words were a carefully constructed trap; woven threads of truth and manipulation; indeed he had protected her, provided her a haven when Anne brought her to the Estate, provided luxuries she had never experienced; but, at what cost?, she swallowed, the lump within her throat refused to move, she couldn’t argue, couldn’t deny his claim
With reluctance, she slowly nodded her head; her Silvery-Grey eyes were wide with apprehension; his lips simply curved into a sinisterly cold, predatory grin; an expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes – He reached for Cathryn, and she flinched, she knew with a sickening certainty, that she was about to learn the true meaning of ‘belonging’ to George Smythe.
What followed that first night though was a slow descent into an unfolding nightmare; George’s manipulations, what had once been subtle were now open and brutal; an unwavering force, any flicker of independence, any attempt to voice her own thoughts or desires, they were met with swift, and merciless punishment.
He chipped away at her spirit; eroded her will, she was becoming a shadow of her former self, a docile doll that seemed only to exist to please George.
But, these abuses weren’t always loud; not always visible; there was a constant belittling, subtle insults; he would dissect her words, turn them against her; and then there was the isolation; a slow severing of ties to the outside world, George became her only point of contact.
Then came the physical violence; from hand that gripped too tightly, to a shove that would send her stumbling; but, like everything, it escalated; during one of the evenings, she finally tried to raise a question, a question purely about a meal he had instructed her to prepare – but, instead of simply answering, he lashed out for just daring to even speak.
George struck her across the face; the force of the blow sent her reeling, crashing back down on an angle as she felt the table she landing against slide in response causing her to jerk with it as she hit the ground; after a moment, she managed to look up at him, she was stunned; betrayal and fear warring within her eyes, she felt scared enough she lowered her gaze, fearing another physical strike if she even dared meet his gaze fully.
The silence hung there; he simply watched her, his expression was cold, indifferent; then, he simply turned and left her on the ground.
Chapter 2:
The Price of Silence
The physical violence became more and more common; but it was during physical intimacy that proved far, far worse; any sign of pleasure, any attempt to reciprocate; he punished her, often with brutal violence; he turned the act of love making into a brutal display of dominance, she began learning to be passive, like an unfeeling doll beneath his touch just to try escaping violence, each encounter would leave her feeling violated, empty and utterly alone.
Cathryn came to a horrifying realisation that George wasn’t just controlling her; he was systematically trying to break her; moulding her into the perfect, submissive partner he wanted; she was to become dependent, reliant all under threats of physical violence; a prisoner within her gilded cage.
Finally though she in desperation, she tried to seek Anne’s help; Anne had rescued her before, she had become a motherly-figure; she was desperately hoping Anne could rescue her again; trembling, she confided into Anne what was happening, what George was doing to her, she pour the details out about the abuse, her voice racked with sobs when she spoke.
The morning following her time with Anne, she discovered something horrifying; George, learning of Cathryn’s attempt to seek help had responded swiftly; he didn’t yell, he didn’t scream; he merely smiled as she stood before him in his study, he sat leaning back in his chair with his sinister grin, it was a chilling serene expression that just sent a wave of terror through her “Thought you could seek comfort from my dear cousin?” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement “Predictable”
It wasn’t long before Anne was gone.
George presented it as a fait accompli; he had summoned Cathryn back to the study, as she stood shaking, he circled around her like a predator, his hands clasped behind his back “Anne…, has gone away” he announced casually, as though he was simply discussing politics or even the weather “She needed…, a change of scenery; it is for the best”
Cathryn tried to watch him in the reflection of the window when he moved beyond her gaze behind her; she didn’t dare turn, after all; any action without permission from him often came with a brutal reprisal “Where…, where did she go” she said; her voice barely audible, a whispering tremble as she felt her eyes welling up
As he came back into the periphery of her sight; he simply shrugged, a dismissive gesture that belid the cruelty within his eyes “That isn’t important is it; what Is important is that you understand, this is your fault Cathryn; had you not burdened her with your…, anxieties; she would still be here”
It was a twisting of a knife in a tender wound; a practised move; he knew exactly what would hurt her most; he had turned Anne’s forced removal Cathryn’s responsibility; Anne had been Cathryn’s only source of comfort, now, she was alone
In the March; things reached a peak; in a desperate bid to regain some form of control, Cathryn in the midst of being choked after making a minor mistake, reached about with her left hand, it was a desperate move, but, once her fingers tapped a knife, she reacted instinctively for it; she and despite the desperation and terror she felt, she still kept the sharp edge to directed away as she used the handle itself to hit him; it worked….
Briefly though; as he let go of her to stumble a little to the side; more as a reaction to something unexpected than any other reason, he raised his head a moment; clearly looking confused; and within that moment, Cathryn realised just what was about to happen.
It was controlled, but it was a state of fury she had never seen before; the physical attack was much more horrific than anything he’d done before.
Chapter 3:
Imprisonment
The physical abuse that followed her act of desperation was a culminating and horrifying act of violence; he struck her with such a force she was sent crashing into the counter, knocking things off and onto the floor; but, it had been the positioning of her fall against her stomach that sent an excruciating pain rippling through her body as she slid down to the floor; her hand against her stomach as she gasped, she could barely breath – then she felt it, something warm…, sticky, pooling beneath her, she realised what it meant.
She was pregnant…, or rather; Had been pregnant.
She stared forwards, slowly though she looked towards him, her eyes were filled with horrifying realisation; George merely stood over her, his face was impassive “A Pity” he said coldly; he simply turned, leaving her alone, bleeding and broken on the cold floor
Her body was now a battlefield of aching bruises and raw violation; the pain, unbearable but that pain paled in comparison to the knowledge she had miscarried; that a life she never even realised she had been carrying had been taken from her.
The following days blurred into a nightmarish haze; George never let her gain any rest; she was barely able to move, the process of her emotions was a tender thing; each day was a new struggle.
Then came a day of long travel; George had her prepared for travel, regardless of her state of being; she attended one of the grotesque gatherings; a twisted mockery of a social event; but, it also conflicted with the very nature of her upbringing; George effectively paraded her like some kind of trophy; the Cultists of the Cult of the Minotaur viewed Cathryn; a woman who’s upbringing had been about fighting them, they viewed her in her current state, they simply mocked her, reminded her of the failure of those that came before her.
George had forced her to attend this meeting for many reasons; but, the most important was to simply humiliate her; within the Cultist Bureau right there in London, despite being one of the rare outings, her struggle to move was overwhelming for her; whenever she wasn’t observed, she would lean onto things, a desperate effort to alleviate pain she felt; her head often low against her arms, but always had to straighten back up whenever hearing George’s voice.
George was fully aware of her struggle to remain on her feet, despite her belief she was unseen, he watched her trying to find relief; for Cathryn words where echoed and distant jumbles; she couldn’t make sense of them – but, it was at this meeting he finally revealed something.
Drawing her attention, Cathryn straightened back up she felt her body struggling as she breathed short breaths “Do you know why I brought you to this particular meeting my ‘Dear Wife’?” he asked, his voice dripping with false affection she slowly shook her head “It is time you understood what role you played in all this”
He began to explain things, using excruciating detail; revealing how her past actions as an Anti-Imperium ‘Hunter’ had inadvertently aided in his rise to power; allowing him to take control within the Imperium, each Cultists she had eliminated, each assignment she interrupted had weakened Georges rivals, it had cleared him his path to power, he had seized that moment, thanking her for her dedication – grinning as she comes to realise how her actions had raised his position.
Mid-to-Late April, 1890
Cathryn had become a ghost within the Smythe Estate; laying on the bed, the silk sheets felt abrasive against her bare, bruised skin; each movement was a painful reminder of George’s violence, a searing brand on her body and soul.
The tears fell down her face; silent, bitter – she was little more than a slave to George, the infatuation she felt had cleared, the realisation she felt in January felt like a constant punch, she was reminded every single day and night; when she first came to the Estate with Anne, she remembered so many Staff that served, yet, from observation, they seemed happy; now, since becoming George’s wife, many of them seemed to have vanished, she had taken up many of those jobs, regardless of her pain.
Her body ached; her mind reeled, she was struggling to remember what joy even felt like, wondering if she was simply lying to herself having ever experienced it in the first place.
A wave of nausea washed over her; a phantom of the life she’d lost, slowly, painfully, she moved, pulling herself to her feet – her limbs trembled; dressing had become an ordeal, each movement a challenge “Cathryn!” George’s voice; cold and imperious sliced through the silence of the room
Cathryn froze; her blood turned to ice.
“Get to the kitchen; Prepare a meal” he commanded; though his voice contained a chilling amusement “We have guests arriving; and be sure you be properly attired; I wouldn’t want you to embarrass this family, after all, we have an image to maintain”
Cathryn barely mumbled out an agreement; not daring to look until she heard the door close before finally struggling around, she simply stood there, partially dressed before moving to begin searching for something that would be presentable
Chapter 4:
Illusion of Unity Shatters
Within the late evening; the Smythe Manor played host to various different officials from the Imperium, each representing their own Cultist groups; amongst those present were from the French ‘Roosters’, the Bulgarian ‘Cult of Rila’, the relatively new ‘Cult of the Wolf’ from the Unified Italian Kingdom, the ‘Cult of the Lion’ from Portugal, further east; the ‘Cult of Scarab’ from Egypt and from across the Atlantic was the American Cultists ‘The Brothers and Sisters of Liberty’ represented by Benjamin and Isabelle Mason.
Cultists each part of the Imperium complicated structure, some with various different views that certainly tended to clash with the very nature of the Cult of the Minotaur, who was so often seen as much more extreme and violent.
While they gathered for this grotesque spectacle, with faces flushed with wine and perversive excitement; Cathryn her face pale and drawn, moved mechanically – she served food, refilled glasses, each step was agonising, some looks appeared to display concern, while others; such as those from the Cult of the Wolf, they leered at her with indifference.
Once Cultist; a Frenchman by the name of Eugène, he was a portly man usually with a cruel smile, though watching Cathryn struggle, it brought a visual concern to his face, he raised his eyebrow “Madame Smythe appears…, unwell…., is she always so delicate?”
George simply chuckled; a sound that sent a shiver down Cathryn’s spine “She usually requires…, discipline, and sometimes…, I simply get carried away; a strong hand keeps her in line, especially given her past as a ‘Hunter’…, can never be quite certain; she may pretend to submit, but…, what if she hasn’t…, I will ensure he does”
A deep voice cut through the air “Such treatment is…, unbecoming, Smythe”
Eyes shifted, they moved towards Benjamin Mason; he was an imposing American, his short hair dark, with piercing emerald Green eyes; beside him was his wife; Isabelle.
Isabelle, with her black hair and pale complexion so often made her appear ethereal; like some kind of ghost amongst the living world, her eyes often intense, yet could hold obvious compassion, she had been quietly observing Cathryn with increasing concern.
George’s smile vanished; leaning forwards towards the table with a dangerous glint “And what right do you have to comment upon my personal affairs Mason; do remember your place”
Benjamin simply stared back; his gaze locked onto George’s icy blue eyes; the tension in the room thickened; palpable and suffocating.
Following the meals conclusion and after guests had dispersed to their rooms; Cathryn stumbled in the late hours down along the hallway, her body was screaming in protest, she needed to put her hand against the wall when she felt herself nearly collapse.
But the sudden hand lightly landing on her shoulder caused her to panic; twisting sharply and yelping as her legs gave out beneath her; Benjamin however was quick to move; catching her before she fell, while Isabelle gently eased her hand towards Cathryn’s face a moment “What has he done to you child” she said; her voice soft
“We shouldn’t linger” Benjamin said; gesturing with a simply head movement; he gently guided Cathryn to her room; while Isabelle proceeded to guide Cathryn over to her bed, Benjamin sat down by the door; here, within the privacy of Cathryn’s room; here, Isabelle repeated her previous words, now posing them as a direct question; Cathryn, she hesitated a moment.
Then; the dam simply broke – she poured our everything that had happened since her marriage in January and over the past few months; recounting the horrors of violence, manipulation and the miscarriage, she spoke of how George had twisted her role as a ‘Hunter’ against her, used her actions to have his own rivals eliminated.
Isabelle listened patiently; her face etched with sorrow; when Cathryn finally finished, she gave her a gentle embrace; she felt the girl tremble in her arms “Let me examine your injuries, then, you need to rest my dear”
Benjamin ; his expression grim, observed as his wife tended to Cathryn’s wounds with a gentle touch; shifting his gaze away respectfully in Cathryn’s moment of undress, though he could see hesitation before looking away; when Cathryn finally was helped to bed, his eyes shifted to his wife, he watched over them carefully; while he was a man of the Imperium, had devoted his entire life to it; he was also a man of honour, and he wouldn’t stand idly by while a woman was being brutalised in such a way; especially with how recently Isabelle herself had just given birth – that motherly instinct had driven his partner to develop a clear connection to Cathryn.
He knew what would go through Isabelle’s mind; he needed to speak with her; he couldn’t let her act without first consulting him first; he had a pretty good idea as to what she would do if he let her go off independently, typically, it could often cause severe problems if he wasn’t involved somewhere within the planning, though he often questioned if it was worse for those she targeted or simply because it usually was a mess he needed to deal with.
Berlin, The German Empire
Away from Britain; Anne Smythe had not been idle since her exile from the Smythe Estate; in fact, she had sought out allies; an act of desperation had led her to see out the very people her family had led the destruction of in 1872; as far as Anne was aware; the ‘Hunters’ in Britain no longer existed – she had little choice but to travel to a land who’s relationship with Britain had begun changing – Germany – the Empire which had begun building up its Naval Power, the first to begin a challenge against Britain domination of the Seas.
The crisp air of Berlin did little to soothe Anne as anxiety gnawed at her; she sat in a dimly lit room, fidgeting constantly as her mind was fixed on one thing, and one thing alone; Cathryn; the last words she remembered from her was the begging “Please” Cathryn pleaded
The scent pungent tobacco wafted around her, her nose crinkling in response as a man eased himself down into the chair opposite her; the German sat opposite Anne was one of the remnants within Germany a ‘Hunter’ that still fought against the Imperium with everything that had available to them; Ewald Grosskopf “I am begging you sir; help me, help me free my daughter, she is in danger”
Ewald, a man whose face was etched with weariness from countless battles; he listened intently as Anne began to recount things for him, his eyes, ocean blue, were normally sharp and calculating, they simply softened in symphony as Anne’s plight, but there wasn’t much he could do; with a sigh he watched her carefully “We are sympathetic, Fräulein, truly, but, we do not have the resources to help; here in the Reich, we are stretched too thin”
He could see Anne’s expression almost break “The Cult of the Schwarzer Adler wields considerable power politically; we just can’t divert our attention from them, it would be suicidal”
Despair washed over Anne as she leaned back “Then…., is there no one I can get any help from?”
Ewald hesitated a moment; his gaze thoughtful; after some silence he looked at Anne carefully “There is a man back in England; he is a survivor of the purge in your land in Eighteen-Seventy Two; a man by the name of ‘Jesse’ he has considerable skill, perhaps…” he paused a moment “…perhaps finding him would be your best option”
A glimmer of hope rose in Anne’s chest; fragile, but it was there; she nodded, grateful for the suggestion..
Chapter 5:
Seeds of Division
The Smythe Estate, Along the mouth of the River Thames
During the late hours; George sat impeccably within his dark, well-tailored and expensive suit, he leaned back in the chair, a faint smile playing on his lips as he regarded Benjamin and Isabelle across from him; Isabelle’s face was a mask of fury that burned with indignation “You disgust me!” she spat; her voice trembling with her barely controlled rage “She is a young woman; barely into her eighteenth year on this earth; and the things you have done to her!”
George raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance “Isabelle, you wound me; I am simply ensuring the continuation of this Imperium, and…, obviously, my lineage”
“Lineage?; You broke that poor girl!, she is struggling, she can barely move since her miscarriage, and yet you continue to force her to work, to ted to your physical needs at your whim, she is at your beck and call constantly, without rest; your using her as a pawn in your twisted little game!” she narrowed her eyes “You treat her less than dirt”
Benjamin fixed his gaze on George with a simmering anger; George simply let out a light chuckle “Come now Isabelle; let’s not get carried away; she is after all a ‘Hunter’ and that means she is a threat, besides, I am lenient…, she gets moments of reprieve when I decide she can have it; but only when she earns such treatment”
Leaning forwards; George locked his icy-blue eyes with Isabelle’s eyes “But let’s not forget my dear; who holds the power here, the ‘real’ power, for all your loyalty to our ‘Glorious’ Elected Leader; Victor, it is my money to provides the Imperium the backing it requires for its global operations, and right this moment, you are guests within my home; beneficiaries of my generosity, it would be unwise you forget your place”
Isabelle’s fury flared “We’ll be leaving; and, I am taking Cathryn with me; I will not leave her here to continue living under your torture and abuse”
George’s smile vanished; replaced with a chillingly cold expression “Jacob!” he barked, his voice cut through the air; the loyal butler pushed open the doors “Have our Guards escort the mason’s off my Estate” he ordered; his voice now devoid of emotion “Ensure that they understand the implication of outstaying their welcome”
Isabelle moved forwards, her hand reaching out as he anger flared; Benjamin moved, grabbing his wife’s wrist and restraining her; his eyes narrowed as he looked towards George “You’ll regret this Smythe” he growled; his voice laced with venom “Mark my words”
As the guards approached; Isabelle hesitated; her eyes shift upwards, she wanted to to go and get Cathryn; but George drew her attention back “I wouldn’t; think of that youngest daughter you recently had Isabelle” he said, his voice calm, but threatening “Think how her life maybe effected if Mummy and Daddy never return back home to that Estate in Wyoming; you have two young sons as well…”
The two were soon ushered out; the heavy doors slamming behind them as they were forcibly escorted from the grounds of the Estate; Isabelle’s eyes constantly shifting to catch sight of Cathryn; unfortunately though; she never got a chance to see her before being forced from the Estate.
Now, once again, Cathryn was without aid; George, feeling anger at being challenged decided that he would once again reinforce that dominance on Cathryn, slowly rising and leaving his study to go and find her in her room.
As George entered Cathryn’s room; the door gently clicking in the eerie silence, a single scream ripped out into the silent halls; a scream with more pain than has been previously heard in those halls.
Chapter 6:
The Seed of Despair
July, 1890 A.D.
A pleasant scent of disinfectant filled the often oppressive state of Cathryn’s room; she stared blankly at the wall; her mind a dull ache, these monthly Doctor’s visits had become ritual, a grim reminder of the constant state she found herself in; scrapes to gashes, bruising and fractures – the miscarriage, all of it was meticulously documented, Cathryn was acutely aware that this was not about her wellbeing, but just for George’s recording keeping.
The Doctor, a portly man with a nervous demeanour cleared his throat, shuffling through notes “Well…, Mrs. Smythe…, I have some news for you”
Cathryn barely registered his words; her world had shrunk considerably to the confines of the Manor and the surroundings grounds of the Estate; her spirit had slowly been eroded, and it hadn’t yet even been a year; she was utterly terrified of what the future could hold for her; the cruelty, beatings, the mental games; the isolation, it was a slow, agonising death.
“You’re pregnant” the Doctor announced, his voice carefully neutral
The words hung in the air; they didn’t immediately process; but, when they did, it shattered the fragile equilibrium of Cathryn’s mind; her eyes widened, she felt a primal fear surge up; her face pale as she stared, unblinking; ‘No…, not again…’ she thought “Pregnant?” she whispered; her voice barely audible
The Doctor; oblivious to the inner turmoil he had just unleashed; repeated, confirming “Yes Mrs. Smythe; approximately, Four-Months” he said, his gaze returning to her
The world seemed to swim; Cathryn felt a cold dread seep into her bones; a paralyzing fear that robbed her of breath; four months; she counted mentally, trying to connect things, her body and mind were still reeling from the first miscarriage, now, it was happening again; the seed of her tormentor.
Her mind fractured; she retreated inwards, effectively shutting down, she looked like she was swaying as she silvery-eyes appeared rather vacant; as the Doctor continued to speak; his words were simply lost in the deafening silence of her despair; she didn’t speak, she didn’t move; she just stared.
The Doctor, unnerved by her catatonic state, decided to finish up his examination and hurried from the room; eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere.
Later that day; Jacob appeared within the Manor’s library; he found George reviewing several of the Estates Ledgers “The Doctor has delivered the news on her examination sir” he said; his voice devoid of emotion
George glanced over before returning his attention back down “Hm?; and?”
“Your wife is pregnant sir; about Four Months along”
George lifted his head again; he looked towards Jacob carefully; a smile slowly curving his lips into a sinister grin “Ah…, excellent; well…., see to it that Mrs Smythe is not permitted to leave the Estate; at all, after all Jacob; her health is of course ‘paramount’..” he let a light chuckle escape
A slight smile had briefly appeared on Jacob’s face when he had announced the news; but, it had vanished now, in response to Geroge’s reaction; a look of concern replacing it; he knew enough t not question; but, he certainly wasn’t ignorant to the horrors that went on beneath his nose, he simply bowed and withdrew, leaving George alone with his twisted plans.
Cathryn was trapped utterly and completely; the noose was tightening around her.
August, 1890
A new presence eventually graced the Estate; William – one of George’s children from a previous union, accompanying him was William’s mother; ‘Peggy’ as George greeted her, a strangely warm affection to his tone that was unusual, the woman, in her mid-twenties looked upon George with a confused expression, she remembered their last interaction, the cruelty he had displayed back then, something was different.
William; he was a boy of barely Seven Years of age; possessing the same Blonde Hair and Icy-Blue eyes of his father; he was a chilling reminder of the man that held Cathryn captive.
While exploring the grounds; William noticed the young woman; she was on her knee’s leaning over and tending to what seemed like a small garden; smiling, he decided to approach her, she was far too distracted to even notice his arrival, so he could surprise her with his announcement when he got towards her.
As Cathryn was tending to the small garden, its proximity close to the Manor, it was the only place she could find sanctuary now; she was completely lost in her actions; she never even registered the footsteps coming towards her due to how light they were.
Coming to a stop; William tilted his head as he watched her “Hello” he said; his voice now more a hesitant whisper – but, the reaction wasn’t quite what he expected
Cathryn’s reaction was immediate; she twisted around quickly, too quickly sending sharp pains through her ribs, she slumped sideways, falling off her knee’s, her eyes widened in panic, looking about before finally landing onto William; her chest moved with heavy movement as she felt her hand sink into soil as she held herself upright “My name is William”
Chapter 7:
Birth of Twins
The rich early clung to Cathryn’s pal as she slowly begun to readjust her position; a scent of flowers and the soft soil had been replaced by a metallic tang of fear that was now flooding her senses; Seven Years Old; that was all he was – Seven Years Old, and standing right in front of her, a miniature version of the monster that had made her life a living nightmare “H…, Hello William” she managed, her words catching in her throat like barbed wire; she barely managed to force a smile, it felt brittle and alien to her face “My…, My name is Cathryn”
William tilted his head; a gesture that mirrored his father’s, but it lacked the chilling calculation – this was simply, pure, unadulterated childish curiosity; but, it was unnerving none the less; his eyes, that startling -icy-blue, were too perceptive, too knowing for a boy of his age; he was studying her, her movements, her reactions.
Even as she tried to project an aura of normalcy; of calm, her body betrayed her, the faint tremor in her hands, the heavy movements of her chest from her breathing; she saw his gaze flicker over her arms, lingering a moment on the edges of the bruises that peaked from beneath the sleeves of her dress; William could see the almost invisible lines around her neck; souvenirs of his father’s possessive rage.
Then, his eyes locked to the thin, angry line on her lower lip; a fresh wound.
Even at Seven; he recognised it; he recognised the signs; a wave of nausea washed over Cathryn; how much did he know? – Children were like sponges, absorbing the unspoken truths that hung in the air like poison.
Had he witnessed his fathers cruelty; had he heard similar muffled cries like her own “Are you alright?” William asked tentatively, breaking Cathryn from her thoughts; his voice was surprising gentle, the question so simple; so innocent, it was shattering the precarious walls of her emotions.
Closing her eyes, she squeeze them tightly; fighting back tears threatening to spill; she couldn’t break down, not there; not in front of him – “I.., I’m fine” she lied, her voice barely a whisper “I…, I am just…, clumsy”
William remained silent a moment; his gaze was unwavering, he didn’t believe her; as her eyes opened, she could see it; there was a flicker in his eyes akin to something…, empathy ?, concern?…, it was a foreign emotion in the Smythe Estate, a place were cruelty so often thrived.
Taking a step closer; Cathryn immediately recoiled, instinctively, her muscles tensed, the movement was small, almost imperceptible; but William noticed, his brow furrowed “My father…., he gets angry sometimes” he said; the words hesitant, as if testing the waters
The air crackled with unspoken meaning; Cathryn’s heart was pounding against her ribs “Everyone gets angry sometimes….” She said; her pitch slightly higher as her voice trembled
William thought a moment “He shouts a lot…” he mumbled, looking at the ground to kick a stone away towards the side “And…, he sometimes hits”
The worlds hung in the air; heavy and suffocating, Cathryn felt her breath catch in her throat “D…, Doe she hit you William?” she asked; her voice trembling
He shook his head as he looked at her “No; he hits…, other people though…, Mum…”
She stared at him; his mother was like her; a victim, what did that mean for William though she began wondering; what did George intend for him; slowly, with trembling movement, she reached forwards towards him; William raised his eyebrow a moment when he felt her fingers wrap gently around his wrist to pull him closer – he was a little surprised when she decided to hug him, so, he put his small arms around her too, he felt her body shake.
December 20th, 1890 A.D.
Into the late hours; the night was swallowed by an icy cold of the December temperature, but the Smythe Manor only seemed to amplify this feeling; and Cathryn, trapped in the throes of labour, felt her body strain; tearing and threatening to break under immense pressure.
She could barely contain her consciousness; her world was reduced to blinding pain that awoken so many of the wounds inflicted by George; she desperately struggled to breath; she could hear voices around her, but they were distant, muffled and as though coming from another world.
She vaguely remembered being told of her husband’s intention to return, but those words held little meaning beyond terror; there was no comfort, and all she knew was the relentless, agonizing pain.
As the hours blurred; she pushed; strained; her body screamed in protest; but, with monumental effort, she felt release, a surge of relief as the first child was born late into the hours of December the 20th; a Girl.
Cathryn was barely awake, propped up against pillows, her vision swimming, she managed to name the child ‘Elizabeth’ the name a fragile whisper escaping her lips.
She would have only a moment of respite; and, as time began to tick away, she found herself in agonizing pain once again.
By early hours of December the 21st the second twin arrived, the clock had struck Half-Past Four; another girl – Cathryn’s attention, fragmented and weak, shifted towards the newborn; it took a great effort for her to reach her hand out, gently brushing her fingers lightly against the baby’s soft cheek “Name?” a voice prompted; a disembodied sound that swirled within the fog of her consciousness
With a struggle she managed to barely answer with “Lydia”
It would be a few hours later when George would finally arrive; he came into the room quietly, he stood over Cathryn, his icy blue eyes were locked onto the two newborn children Cathryn had weakly gestured towards, they were saddled in Blankets; she provided their names; ‘Elizabeth’ and ‘Lydia’
There was a flicker of something unreadable within is gaze, Cathryn couldn’t tell if it was triumph, satisfaction or something far more sinister; she only knew that her nightmare was only just beginning, now, she had two young children that she had brought into the world of horror, and George held all the power.
Written By: Westley H.
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